Little White Lies
by Lennelle
Summary: Stuck in a forest, with a storm on its way, Sam and Dean can't find their dad.
Be prepared for angst, hurt brothers, limp/hurt!Sam, protective!Dean and all of that other goodness.

* * *

Dean pointedly ignores Sam's bitching. Behind him, his little brother is huffing and kicking at rocks, it's all a little over-done in an obvious bid to get Dean's attention. Well, Dean's not giving it to him. He's too busy with the job, the job that _both_ of them are meant to be doing. But Sam's too busy moaning so Dean has to pick up the slack and keep watch with twice as much effort.

"It's fucking cold," Sam finally says. Dean turns around, his brother is sitting on a rock, jacket pulled tight around him as he grits his teeth and scuffs at the dirt.

"Don't let Dad hear you talking like that," he warns.

"But it _is_ ," Sam stresses, "It's fucking freezing!"

"I've noticed," Dean says dryly, because it is _freezing,_ "But I'm not bitching about it. Put on your big-boy pants and get over it, Samantha."

Sam scowls and looks away. "I'm supposed to be at school," he mutters. Dean goes right back to ignoring him.

They're in a national park in Minnesota, on the top of a cliff ledge where they can get a good view of the entire forest. It stretches out almost as far as the eye can see, a small river runs below them, washing past the muddy bank.

It's a nice view, if that's your sort of thing, but, honestly, Dean is a little disappointed that his dad didn't take him into the forest with him like he'd been expecting. When they'd arrived at the park to find Bobby and another hunter waiting for them, Dean had felt his heart drop. It usually only meant one thing when his dad brought other hunters in for help.

Sam and Dean had to stay behind

John had insisted that Dean and Sam were involved, which was actually bullshit because hanging out at the top of a cliff is not _being involved_. They're supposed to stay on the radio, let them know if they spot any weird activity, be ready to call for help if something goes wrong. They're about a half hour trek away from the park's information point and parking lot, far enough that they could get there quick enough if they need to.

Apparently, they are keeping an eye on the perimeter. In actuality, Dean is babysitting. And Sam hates it as much as he does.

"Why can't we keep watch in the car?" Sam demands, "You know, with the heater."

Dean clenches his teeth. "Sam, if you don't shut the hell up – "

"Okay!" Sam snaps, defensive, "I'm just saying."

Dean whirls around. "You're not _just saying_ , you're whining! You're picking every little thing apart and pointing out everything wrong with it, just like you _always_ do. So shut up!"

Sam ducks his head, pulls his coat collar up higher around his neck. "Sorry," he mumbles. Dean just snorts and turns away because he can't deal with Sam at the moment. At least he can take his non-job seriously.

They get a message through the radio every half hour, usually it's just something small and unsatisfying like 'we're still alive' or 'no sign of the pack'. A whole pack of black dogs is almost unheard of and Dean had seriously wanted in on this hunt, but instead he's stuck with the world's most annoying brother.

Sam is fifteen years old, for God's sake, you'd think it was time to loosen the reigns a bit, but for whatever reason their dad insists that Dean stick to Sam like glue. Dean needs time by himself sometimes, he can't be there to tie Sam's shoes every time it looks like he's going to trip over his own feet.

While Dean is keeping an eye on their surroundings, passing messages through the radio, Sam just sits there on his freaking rock and doesn't say a word. At least he isn't bitching anymore, it's almost peaceful now.

Dean begins to feel guilt creeping up on him when he notices the kid shiver. They aren't supposed to make a fire, for obvious reasons, and Sam's coat is a little too small for him since his last growth spurt so he keeps tugging his sleeves down, only to tug his collar up the next moment.

Dean is cold, but he's beginning to doubt he's as cold as Sam.

He moves over to the duffel. It's full of useful crap they probably won't use; rope, matches, a water canister, first aid kit, and the world's smallest tarpaulin. He grabs the last thing and hands it towards Sam in an apologetic gesture. Sam stares at the sheet, bewildered, and then looks up at Dean.

"I can see you freezing your panties off," Dean says, shrugging.

Sam hesitantly takes the sheet and wraps it around his shoulders. After a moment, he lets out a foggy breath and says, "Thanks."

Dean nods and turns back to his watch point. All he can see from there are trees, miles of them, but he keeps an eye out anyway, in case he can see _something_. He checks his watch, it's beginning to get dark and it been half an hour since his dad's last message. He waits.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes, and there's no message. Dean decides he won't worry, not yet, but it's clear Sam knows something is up because he keeps glancing at the radio in Dean's hand.

Twenty minutes, twenty-five minutes. Nothing.

Just then does the sky decide it wants to spit on them. The rain is light but it's icy cold and clingy, already trying to soak into their hair. Dean isn't meant to send messages unless their dad sends one first, but he's beginning to feel uneasy and he brings the radio to his mouth.

"Dad, come in."

He waits, listens to the crackle on the other end. He glances over at Sammy who's looking worried, so Dean catches his eye and gives him a smile. Sam smiles back half-heartedly.

"Dad," he tries again but he gets no answer. He attaches the radio to his belt and zips up the duffel to keep the supplies from getting wet. Dean sits on the grass by the bag with one hand on the radio, waiting. He hears soft shuffling then Sam's cold body is right next to his, pulling the rain sheet over both of their heads.

Dean slings an arm around Sammy's shoulders. "Dad's fine," he says, "He's fine, you know that, right?"

"I know," Sam nods against him.

Thirty minutes. It has been thirty minutes and there's been no message from their dad. Dean let's himself worry and continues to tell Sam that everything will be fine, even when he's not entirely sure how truthful he's being.

He must have been dozing because Sam is shaking him harshly, nearly sending him toppling over. "What?"

"Do you feel that?" Sam asks, looking up and around. Dean is about to ask what the hell he's on about, but then he notices the way the trees blow almost silently, he feels the hairs stick up on the back of his neck, he sees the grey skies growing darker and closer.

"A storm's coming," Sam says, "We can't be up this high. We need to move."

Dean nods, because as much as he wants to follow his dad's orders of 'do not move from this area!' he also doesn't want to get hit by lightning. He lets Sam take the tarpaulin to wrap himself up in, because he can still hear the kid's teeth chattering, and grabs the duffel.

He can feel how much the wind has picked up once he's on his feet, he watches it rip through the forest like a green sea raging below them. Sam has moved towards the edge of the trees behind them, it's a half hour walk back down the car but hopefully it won't be so bad with the forest canopy to shelter them.

He slings the bag over his shoulder and takes the radio off his belt to try to call their dad again. He doesn't have much hope, especially with the weather like it is now, but it's worth a try. The wind picks up suddenly and something smashes into Dean's shoulder hard enough for him to cry out.

The radio goes flying from his grip but he doesn't see where it lands as he clutches onto his arm, praying it's not dislocated. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sam flit past in a blur, making a dive for the radio that's tumbling towards the edge of the cliff. It's a nearly seventeen-foot drop and surely high enough that the radio wouldn't be salvageable.

His breath is caught in his throat as he watches Sam land right at the edge, one arm reaching over the drop. Then Sam hoists himself around, still lying there on the grass, panting, he smiles and waves the unharmed radio in the air. Dean lets out a sigh of relief as Sam tosses him the radio, he catches it one-handed and grips it tight.

Everything is quiet between them as they catch their breath, Dean gives Sam a small nod of approval and gestures him back over so they can be on their way.

When Sam climbs to his feet, the ground beneath him crumbles away and skitters over the edge, taking Sam with it.

* * *

Dean doesn't breathe, he doesn't move. Time has stopped, he thinks, as he stares at the empty space where Sam used to be. Where the ground is broken and collapsed. It takes him a moment to understand what exactly has happened, to realise that Sam just fell over the edge of the cliff.

"Sam…" his voice won't work, but then he's scrambling towards the edge. "SAM!"

His brother isn't moving; Dean can't even tell if he's breathing from this high up. He prays that the muddy bank might have softened Sam's fall even just the slightest. He calls to him again but he doesn't get any response. "I'm coming down, Sammy! Just hang on for me!"

He unzips the duffel and pulls out the two lengths of rope, even tied together they won't reach the bottom but Dean doesn't have much choice but to drop the last few meters. He securely ties them together, then fastens one end around a nearby tree trunk, yanking on it a few times to make sure it will hold.

Then he grabs the duffel, zipping it up and slinging it over his back. Dean feeds the rope through his belt and casts the end over the drop. Letting himself lean back over the edge is a slow process as he makes sure to keep his footing.

The rock is sensitive in places and crumbles away as he makes his way down. Halfway to the bottom, Dean's feet go out completely and he would have ended up right next to Sam if he hadn't managed to grab hold of a tree root that was sticking out of the rock face.

He dares to cast a glance below him. Sam hasn't moved, from here Dean can see for certain that Sam's eyes are closed, and there's blood on his clothes, running down the side of his face. "I'm coming, Sammy," Dean repeats, over and over, mostly for his own comfort. He's sure Sam isn't hearing him.

The rope ends three meters above the ground and Dean readies himself to drop, but the second rope gives away and sends him down before he can count to three. He lands heavily, the mud squelching beneath him. The pressure sent up his legs stings but it could have been harsher. The pain in his shoulder is the worst of it.

He yanks up the rope, rolling it up as he hurries over to Sam. He drops to his knees, fingers going straight for Sam's pulse point. There is a beat there, too fast, but there.

"Sammy, can you hear me?" Dean pats gently at his brother's cheek, "Come on, Sam, don't leave me hanging."

There's a sharp, raspy intake of breath and Sam's eyes opened slightly. He gazes around sluggishly, then his eyes fall on Dean and focus a little.

"Can you talk?" Dean asks.

"Hurts," Sam whispers, and a tear slips down his cheek.

"I know," Dean says, "You fell a long way, huh? But I'm here, I'm not leaving you."

Sam begins to whimper but he's cut off by his own cry of pain. His breathing picks up, coming in too fast. He's starting to panic. "M-my legs," he cries, "Deaaan!"

"Shhhh" Dean hushes him gently, "You need to calm down. Can you do that for me?"

"I can't – I, oh God," Sam shudders. The rain is starting to fall heavier now, the river beside them is beginning to swell, rising up towards them. Dean needs to get them somewhere dry if Sam is going to have any sort of chance.

He leans over his brother. "Sam, listen to me," he says steadily, "I'm going to have to move you, but you _need_ to stay calm. Can you do that?"

"I don't, I don't know," Sam sobs, sucking in a raspy breath. The sound coming from Sam's lungs is worrying Dean, but he needs to get them out of the rain first. He glances around and spies a small cave at the bottom of the rock face, he has no idea if the water might be able to reach that point, or if something lives in there, but he's seriously running out of options.

The tarpaulin is billowing in the wind a couple of meters away, trapped beneath a piece of wood.

"I'm going to be back in one moment, I promise," he says to Sam, and hurries off to retrieve the sheet, trying not to listen to Sam's weak cries for him to come back, please don't leave him. It takes a bit of yanking but Dean manages to pull the sheet out, he bundles it up and hurries back to Sam.

Dean lays the sheet out beside his brother, holding down the corners with rocks he found scattered along the bank.

"Can you move at all?" Dean asks, crouching beside Sam. Sam shudders and shakes his head.

"Everything hurts," he whimpers.

"Okay. Just stay calm, remember?"

Sam nods slightly, looking anything but calm. Dean can't roll Sam over onto the sheet because he doesn't know what state the kid's spine is in. Just by glancing, Dean knows both of Sam's legs are broken and he's hit his head, no doubt there are numerous other injuries hidden under his clothes.

He needs to slide the sheet under Sam, and it's going to be a longer and more painful process for Sam since there's only one person there to do it on both ends. Still, the river is creeping closer and the rain is coming down harder.

Dean begins at Sam's head, pulling the sheet under as quick as he can. Sam manages to hold back his cries between clenched teeth. When Dean gets the sheet under his legs, Sam screams himself raw. Dean ties the ends of the sheet like a hammock so Sam won't be jostled any more than necessary, and he drags him along, mostly one-handed, to the cave quickly to avoid the rain flooding the sheet.

Sam isn't screaming once they're in shelter, but he's sobbing harder than Dean's ever seen him. Dean shrugs off the jacket he has under his coat and uses the clean fabric to gently dab Sam as dry as possible.

"I'm sorry," Sam says, choking a little.

"What for?"

"For… whining," Sam manages, he swallows heavily and winces, "Pointing out e-everything wrong."

"Jeez, Sammy, it's okay. Don't worry about it."

"Sorry…"

"I need to look you over," Dean says with more confidence than he has, "You ready?"

"Guh," Sam squeezes his eyes shut, "J-just… get it over with."

"I'll be as gentle as I can," Dean promises. He starts at Sam's head. There's a long cut along his hairline, but after a gently prod he sees that it isn't deep enough for stitches, not that Dean has anything to stitch Sam up with. There's plenty of blood, and Dean wipes away most of it. He fishes out the first aid kit, they've got a lot of bandages in there and he cuts off a strip, folds it until it's thick and tapes it over the wound to soak up any more blood that seeps out.

Sam stifles a whimper when Dean unbuttons his shirt. His torso is black and blue, there are a few minor cuts scattered across the skin, but nothing that looks immediately worrying. It's the rasp of Sam's breathing that Dean needs to investigate, if a broken rib has pierced Sam's lung then the kid doesn't have much time.

He feels as gently as he can, apologising over and over as Sam cries. Nothing seems severely out of the ordinary.

"I don't think anything is broken," Dean says, letting out a sigh of relief. "I think you might have cracked a couple of ribs, though."

"I hit… the r-rock face on the w-way down," Sam stutters. Dean hushes him because talking is obviously taking the kid a lot of effort. He gently covers his chest back over, trying to keep him as warm as possible, a couple of measly layers isn't much but it's all they have.

He can even see without removing Sam's jeans that the legs are bad. Both of them are bent in odd ways, and the left leg is soaked with blood where a sharp lump pushes up against the denim. He needs to cut away the material, remove Sam's shoes too to see how bad his feet are. Dean would guess that Sam landed vertical and he can't even imagine how much that must have hurt.

He starts with the boots, pulling the laces out completely, the light jostling has Sam whimpering quietly, but he cries out unashamedly when Dean begins to slowly tug the shoes off. Then he pulls away the socks, which seems to be just as painful for Sam.

His feet are a mess. Some of the nails are cracked and bleeding, some of his toes look surely broken, both feet are bruised and swollen, puffy and black, blue. He's beginning to wonder how Sam will ever walk again.

He crawls back up to Sam's head and wipes away a few tears. "You still with me?"

"Mm-hmm," Sam swallows hard and looks at him.

"Can you move anything?" he repeats his earlier question, "Even if it's just one finger."

"I don't know," Sam whispers.

Dean puts his hand on Sam's. "Can you feel me touching you?"

"Yeah."

"Where am I touching you, Sam?"

"Um, left hand."

"Good. Can you move your fingers on that hand?" he asks. Sam obeys, moving his fingers with little trouble, as does his other hand when Dean asks. The toes are a whole different story because none of them look like they'll be moving any time soon. But Dean urges, and Sam tries so hard he manages to make them twitch. But the whole ordeal leaves Sam wracking with sobs.

Dean stokes his brother's damp hair away from his sweaty forehead. "You're doing great," he soothes, "I'm gonna look at your legs now, okay?"

"No, no p-please, Dean," Sam cries, fingers desperately trying to grasp Dean's knee.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I know it hurts but I need to see what the damage is."

"O-okay," Sam agrees after a few deep breaths, but he's crying softly, he knows how much it's going to hurt.

Dean grabs the scissors from the first aid kit and slices through the jeans. Sam holds back from screaming, clenching it between his teeth. Once Dean is done, he casts the tattered, bloody denim to one side. He can't breathe for a moment, looking at Sam's damaged legs.

The one on the right is bruised badly, slightly angled wrong, but it's nothing that can't be fixed. The left leg is a mess. Parts of it look shattered beneath the skin, the length of it is bent and lumpy, but it's the bone that is cracked and sticking through Sam's skin that almost makes Dean burst into tears. He's quick to move back into Sam's line of sight.

"You're okay, alright? We'll get you to the hospital and they'll fix you up, good as new."

"You're a c-crappy… liar," Sam croaks.

He doesn't have an answer to that, there's no point lying to the kid twice. He just brushes back a few stray strands of hair and turns back to Sam's legs. The bone needs to go back in, but he can't do that by himself, and he has no idea how much more damage that will inflict. It's better to just try to stop the bleeding.

Sam screams his throat raw as Dean packs bandages around the wound as gently as he can. Then Sam stops screaming. His eyes are closed again, head lolled to the side.

"Sammy!" Dean pats his cheek to rouse him to no avail. "You need to wake up, Sam. You need to stay awake."

Sam doesn't listen, because Sam can't hear. Dean feels his pulse again, it's slower. The boy's skin is pale and clammy. Sam is going into shock. Dean pulls off his own jacket and drapes it over his brother, then he wraps the sheet around him in the hopes of keep him warm.

Dean finds a few sticks that must have been blown into the cave by the storm and he uses them to set up a fire, using dried up leaves for tinder. It burns low and quiet but it gives them the ounce heat they need so desperately need. He unhooks the radio from his belt, the damn thing that got them here in the first place. He wishes it had been this that had smashed at the bottom of the cliff instead of his brother.

But it's this damn thing that might save his little brother's life now.

"Dad, if you can hear me, Sam is really hurt. We're in a cave at the bottom of the look-out point, we need Heli rescue and we need it now or Sammy won't last much longer."

He waits, but his only answer is the radio's crackle. He moves around, trying to find better reception, but no one is listening. He fiddles through radio channels in the hope that someone else might be reachable, but everything is silent.

When Sam wakes up again, he's disoriented.

"Deaaan?" he slurs, eyes still closed.

"I'm right here," Dean hurries over to him, places a hand on his chilled skin.

"Dean," Sam sighs, "Hurts."

"I know it does. You remember what happened?"

Sam is quiet and Dean worries he has passed out again but, after a moment, Sam finally says, "Fell?" like he's guessing.

"That's right," Dean says softly, stroking Sam's hair. "Do you remember where you are?"

"Nuh," Sam grunts, eyes opening and rolling away lazily, "S'dark."

The sun went down completely not long ago and the dwindling fire is all they have. Dean knows in his gut that Sam won't be around when the sun rises. There's no one coming, but he tells Sam otherwise because it seems to make him more comfortable.

"I'm going to be with you the whole time, got it?"

"Mmmm."

"I'm not leaving you."

He lays himself down at Sam's side, maybe he can keep him warmer. Mostly, he just wants to feel his brother by his side.

"I'm sorry I shouted at you before," he says, Sam makes no indication that he's listening, "You're not a pain in the ass. You don't whine. If anything, you put up with more crap than is humanly possible."

Sam still doesn't answer. Dean props himself up to find Sam's eyes closed again. His brother is still breathing, dragging uncomfortable breaths in and out.

"I know it's hard but… try to hang on longer, huh? Give me a chance to get us out of this mess."

Dean takes the fact that Sam is still breathing as an answer. He lies back down, running his fingers through Sam's hair and listening to the wind whistle and roar outside until he drifts off.

* * *

"Dean, son. Dean, wake up!"

Someone is jostling his bad shoulder, breathing right into his ear, and Dean wakes up with a yelp.

"Thank God," it's Bobby who's kneeling beside him.

"You really here?" Dean asks.

"I'm really here," Bobby pats his good shoulder and helps him sit up. Dean nearly topples back down, he feels light-headed and nauseous, Bobby holds him steady.

"Careful, son," he says softly, "You two have been out in the cold a long time."

Dean takes in the grim look on his face and feels himself grow stiff. He had promised he wouldn't leave Sam; he had promised he'd stay with him, but he had fallen asleep instead of keeping watch.

Sam is still not awake, he's translucently pale, going blue around his eyes and mouth. He looks…

"Is he...?" Dean can't finish his question.

"He's still alive," that's his dad, crouched over the other side of Sam. Dean hadn't noticed that anyone else was there, but he spots that nameless hunter at the mouth of the cave, talking into a radio.

"How did you find us?"

"We got back to the watch-point but you two weren't there, when we couldn't find you at the car we came back here and saw the rock crumbled away. Abraham's a good tracker, said he thought you two went down here."

Dean looks back up to the hunter by the cave entrance, Abraham. He catches his eye and gives him a grateful nod.

"Helicopter's on its way," John says, not looking away from Sam.

Finally, Dean cries.

* * *

He doesn't know why expects to go with Sam in the helicopter, but apparently that isn't the case. Not even their dad is allowed in because there isn't enough room, so the remainder of them have to trek back to the parking lot and make their own way over to the hospital.

When the rescue team had arrived they had gone straight for Sam, getting him onto a stretcher, strapping him down, placing an oxygen mask over his face. Not once did Sam make a sound, not even a twitch. Dean had listened to the medics shout to each other over the storm in some medical language that made no sense to him, it was only by the urgency in their voices that he had known things were serious.

And Dean hadn't noticed that anyone had tied his arm up in a makeshift sling until he was sitting in the Impala's passenger seat. He leaned his forehead against the window's cool glass, watching the road flash by in a blur. He had thought about Sam's shattered bones until he fell asleep with tears in his eyes.

Dean doesn't expect to be checked in as a patient, but it turns out he's suffering from mild shock and a broken shoulder. It's painful when they wrestle him out of his shirts for x-rays, whatever had smacked him in the storm had cracked his bone, they say. They tell him he's lucky that surgery isn't required considering how much he had jostled it back in the forest. But none of that phases him because all he wants to know is if Sam will be okay.

The staff just tell him that they'll go and find out for him, but no one ever follows through on their promises, no one tells him anything. He is left on his own, mostly. He's on a ward with a few other patients, a couple of them spend most of their time sleeping, a couple of others try to get Dean join in on their conversation, to no avail.

When his dad finally appears in his cubicle, drawing the curtain around them, grim-faced and tired, he can only tell Dean that Sam is in the OR, he needs surgery on both legs, things are touch-and-go at the moment.

Whatever the nurses are feeding into Dean's IV had make sure he sleeps, despite his efforts not to.

When he wakes up, five hours later, his father had been sitting in the chair by his bed, red-eyed like it was November 2nd, and for a short moment Dean is been sure Sam is gone.

The first thing his dad says to him is, "Remember that you saved his life, Dean. You saved his life."

And then he tells him what happened in surgery, he tells Dean what the doctors had to do to save Sam. Once John is finished speaking, Dean vomits down the side of the bed.

Dean is supposed the be in a wheelchair, but he's walking just fine, if a little unsteady, as he enters Sam's room. And Sam is _alive_. Sam is unconscious and filled up with drugs and hooked up to machines but he is _breathing_ on his own.

Even though Dean was told, warned, what to expect, it still hurts when he lays eyes on the empty space where Sam's left leg used to be. He eyes the sheet covering the stump, where the leg now ends just below the knee, and he tries not to cry, for Sammy's sake.

The doctors and nurses are going on about how lucky Sam is, that no one would have survived what he went through. Not even an adult could have survived a nearly seventeen-foot drop, or even the cold weather and blood loss. Most people would have died before the Heli rescue had arrived.

They congratulate Dean on his quick thinking back in the forest, but Dean just ignores them in favour of focusing every ounce of his attention on his brother. His brother who doesn't know what has happened, yet.

Dean eats when he's told, crappy hospital food, and he takes medication when he's told, little white pills that he doesn't know the purpose of, but if anyone tries to get him to leave Sam's bedside they're in for a difficult time, as one doctor found out. He's lucky the doctor hadn't wanted to get him kicked out by security. Of course, his dad is the only one with any real authority, and Dean reluctantly goes back to bed when he's ordered to.

Most of the time when he's meant to be sleeping, Dean thinks. He thinks about Sam's face when he finally wakes up and realises what has happened. He thinks about the likelihood that their dad will leave Sam behind to continue the hunt. He thinks about what he'll say when that time comes.

When he sleeps, he dreams of sleeping curled around Sam's cold, stiff body back in that cave, he dreams of his little brother being taken away in a black bag. And every night he wakes up drenched in his own sweat.

John barely leaves Sam, and if he does it's to check on Dean. Dean, who is only in the hospital for two nights. He's not in bad shape but the doctors want to monitor him, they say. When one of them offers for Dean to talk to a councillor about his traumatic experience, Dean laughs right in their face, because he isn't the one that needs a councillor, Dean isn't the one that lost his leg.

It must have been the wrong reaction because they hand him a phone number, just in case.

They release him in the morning, two days after the rescue, his dad drives him over to the motel and sets him up in bed with hot soup and the TV remote, John doesn't stick around long before he's heading back to the hospital. He comes back a couple of hours later. Sam still hasn't woken up, he tells Dean. Even worse, Sam develops an infection, despite his leg being removed to prevent just that, and no one is allowed to visit him until he's out of the woods.

John drinks himself to sleep that night.

Dean takes to spending his time hanging out in the waiting area, arm held up by a more secure sling, reading one of Sam's books. He figures that maybe it will be something for the two of them to talk about when Sam wakes up, something Sam likes rather than their usual conversations that revolve around hunting or Dean's adventures with women.

It's been a day since he checked out and he's already halfway through The Great Gatsby, and Dean admits, he actually kind of likes it. Hospital staff shoo him away eventually, as they do every night he's there, telling him to get some rest, and Dean finishes the book in his motel bed with plenty of things in mind to discuss with his brother.

He's been sleeping more than usual lately, and it's one in the afternoon the next day when he's woken up by his dad calling from the hospital.

"Dad? Is everything okay?" Dean asks, holding his breath.

"The fever broke last night. Sam's awake," he says, "Bobby's on his way to bring you over."

He hangs up before Dean can say anything. _Is he okay? Has he asked for me? Does he know what has happened?_

It takes him a while to wrangle himself into clean clothes one-handed. He just about manages to get his teeth cleaned when Bobby knocks on the motel room door. He looks sad, but he smiles at Dean.

"You ready to see you brother?" he asks. Dean nods and Bobby gives him a worried look.

It's quiet in Bobby's truck on the way to the hospital, but Bobby keeps glancing at Dean now and then, eventually it begins to get on his nerves.

"What are you staring at?" he snaps.

Bobby blinks at him, then turns back to the road like Dean's little outburst never happened. "Nothing. It's just that that's the most I've heard you talk in days. I was beginning to worry."

Dean snorts and sinks lower in his seat. "You don't need to worry about me. I've still got both legs."

"I worry about both of you boys," Bobby says, and no one says another word until they get to the hospital.

It's clear that Sam knows very well what has happened. When Dean arrives at the hospital, he can hear grief from the end of the hall, it's Sam's voice and it has Dean sprinting to his little brother's room. Sam is crying in their dad's arms, sobbing loud and breathless. The colourful animals painted on the walls seem to smile down on the scene mockingly.

Bobby has the curtesy to wait in the hallway at a moment like this, he pats Dean comfortingly on the shoulder. But Dean can't make himself move from the doorway, he can't stop staring at the empty space on the bed, where the sheets lie flat when they should be draped over Sam's left leg.

"It's okay, it's alright," John is saying, over and over. Sam just keeps on crying, eyes screwed shut, face buried in his dad's chest. He doesn't even know Dean is there. Dean runs.

He finds himself in a cleaning cupboard and he wedges himself between the shelves of disinfectant and bleach. It's dark in there, but Dean finds it comforting. In there, he can pretend the outside world doesn't exist. He can pretend his brother is fine. A few minutes later light floods in and Dean looks up to Bobby's angry face.

"Don't you dare run out on Sam like that!" He scolds. He flicks on the light and closes the door behind him.

"I needed a minute," Dean says lamely. He avoids Bobby's gaze and stares at his feet.

"Sam _needs you_ ," Bobby snaps. "This isn't about you, Dean. I know this has all been hard on you, I get that, but your little brother needs you. He's going to need you for a long while now. He's going to need you through PT, getting a prosthetic. He's going to need you when people stare, when people don't understand. You can't be one of those people, Dean."

Dean nods and something warm and wet slides down his cheek. "If I'd done something different…" he says, voice cracking, "If I hadn't…"

Bobby crouches down in front of him, takes his face between his hands. "This isn't on you."

Sam is asleep when he gets back. John grips his son's lax fingers between his own, a show of affection Dean hasn't seen since they were little. He looks up at Dean now and then, looks like he wants to say something but he never does. There's an unmistakeable look of guilt on his face. It seems everyone is blaming themselves for what's happened to Sam.

After all, Sam was supposed to have been at school that day.

* * *

Dean has started The Lord of the Rings. It's kind of long and confusing, but Sam seemed to like it when he read it a couple of months ago, wouldn't shut up about elves and wizards and whatever the hell those little dudes are with the big feet.

His dad isn't there, for once. Bobby had taken him off for a coffee, but Dean thinks Bobby was trying to get Sam and Dean alone. But Sam is asleep, like he is most of the time, so Dean has been reading the first chapter while he waits for Sammy to wake up.

Things are actually starting to get interesting when he hears Sam say, "Are you _reading?"_

Dean closes the book and puts it down on the bedside table. "Well, things were getting pretty boring with you doing your sleeping beauty thing," he says.

Sam's lips twitch upwards and it's the first time Dean has seen him smile in a while.

"How are you doing?" Dean asks, trying not to look at the end of the bed where one bandaged foot sticks out from under the blanket, "We haven't really talked since…"

"Since I took a swan dive," Sam finishes for him. He sighs heavily and leans back into the cushions, closing his eyes. "I guess I'm okay."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "And the real answer?"

"It hurts," Sam admits.

"I know, but you'll heal up soon and that cast will be off in a few weeks."

" _No_ ," Sam grits out, eyes still securely shut, "Not the broken one. The _other one_. The one that isn't there anymore. It hurts."

Dean is struck dumb, because he's heard of phantom pain before but he never knew it was a real thing. He lets himself look down at Sam's stump curiously.

"And no matter how much crap they pump into my IV, it doesn't make a difference because there's no real pain for it to take away. The doctor said it's just something in my head that still thinks the leg is there, but the pain isn't real. I think they're all talking a bunch of shit."

"You talk to dad with that mouth?" Dean asks.

"We don't talk much," Sam says, "He just sort of sits there, holds my hand sometimes. It's weird."

"He's worried about you," Dean points out.

"I know," Sam sighs, "I just… I don't know." He glances down at his only leg, then at the space next to it. "I keep forgetting," he says, "I wake up and I forget that it's gone. Then when I remember, it's like losing it all over again."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Dean blurts out. Sam turns to look at him, confused. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up. I'm sorry I haven't been here much."

Sam frowns. "You have been here," he says, "You were with me in that fucking cave. The nurses said you've been sitting in the waiting room most of the time. You're here now…" he pauses, looks at Dean searchingly, "It's not your fault, you know that, right?"

"I should have watched out for you," Dean says seriously, "If I'd been doing my job you'd never have been hurt."

Sam stares at him for a second, then bursts out laughing. For a moment Dean wonders if he should inform the nurse that Sam's finally cracked.

"Are you kidding?" Sam snorts, "You could blame a million things for this. You could blame the storm, you could blame the damn radio, you could blame _me_ for being dumb enough to get so close to the edge. Shit happens."

" _Shit happens?_ " Dean repeats, "That's what you have to say about this?"

Sam shrugs. "What do you want me to say? Do you want me to weep for my loss? Because I've done plenty of that. I'm already drowning in this, Dean, please don't let yourself drown in guilt that isn't even yours. I need you. I really do."

A crack in his voice cuts him off and Sam ducks his head, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. Dean sits himself down on the edge of the bed and gently tugs Sam into his chest.

"I'm here. I am," he says softly.

"What's going to happen?" Sam asks shakily, "I can't hunt, not like this."

"No one is leaving you. I promise."

"But – "

"But nothing. No one is leaving you," Dean says into Sam's hair. He closes his eyes and hopes he isn't lying.

* * *

A/N So this is a one-shot, but I think I'll make it into a 'verse and post more one-shots now and then following Sam's recovery. I have a few ideas in mind so I hope you enjoyed this. Reviews are love for Sammy. Thanks for reading!


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